


Autum Dreaming :: Mountain Eddies

by Nell65



Series: Autumn Dreams [15]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon Universe, F/M, Pregnancy, post season two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-22
Updated: 2015-09-24
Packaged: 2018-04-22 21:45:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4851575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nell65/pseuds/Nell65
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adjusting to life on the ground is easy. They'd been preparing for this day for three generations. Adjusting to the people who already lived there is not. They'd never even imagined this possibility.</p>
<p>Teaser for Chapter 3: Streams. <i>Some things are easy. Some things are hard. Bellamy does some of each on a long winter night.</i></p>
<p>A/N: This story has grown hapazardly, so my tags may not have been well done in the beginning. I've been encouraged by my wonderful beta reader (Jeanie205, you rock!) to let people know that this is, in the end, a Bellarke story. A very slow burn, lots of complications on the way Bellarke Story, but a Bellarke story all the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rain

“What the hell is that?” Wick squawked, as Bellamy dumped a sack of rusty metal parts onto the floor of the big workshop he shared with Raven and the other mechs who’d survived groundfall. “What kind of shit are you pouring on my floor, man?”

Bellamy shrugged, and toed the pile. “Guns.”

“Those?” Wick came slightly closer and peered at the pile. “That is a pile of corroded shit parts. Not guns.”

“A couple Trikru kids showed up at the Exchange today. Swore these were from an old stockpile, hidden away decades ago, once the word came down from their Commander at the time banning guns. They wanted to know if we could fix them. I said I’d ask.” 

Two gangly, nervous teens, maybe fifteen or sixteen years old, neither of them sporting more than one small tattoo, clutching a sack of old disassembled rifles with way to much hope and excitement in their eyes. He’d’ve bet that they didn’t have any battle-kill scars either. Not that he asked to see them, though he’d learned he could. As an adult with certified kills of his own, he had the authority to ask for anyone’s bona fides. Not that he could imagine ever doing that.

“No. Absolutely not,” Wick said.

“Don’t be such a whiny baby, Wick,” Raven called from her side of the large room. “You can’t tell what’s salvageable just by looking. You have to actually pick it up.”

Wick raised his hands, waggling his fingers, and his eyebrows, as he said, “I can’t risk my talented hands on crap like that.”

“Who says you have talented hands?”

“You did. Last night.”

The other mechs in the room hooted their appreciation for the exchange, and Bellamy wondered again what the status of their relationship actually was. 

It was clear enough that Wick was head over heels in love with Raven, but her feelings weren’t nearly so easy to judge. She’d grown cautious with her heart, thanks to that ginormous ass Finn Collins. Bellamy used to try to feel bad for the guy, but had lately given up the effort. He’d pretty much trailed disaster in his wake no matter where he went. As far as Bellamy was concerned, their lives were better off without him. Not that he’d ever let Raven or Clarke know that’s how he felt. As for Raven and Wick, he knew they didn’t room together, and that they were close. And that was it, and all he really needed to know.

Raven glowered at Wick from under her eyebrows. “Yeah, well, use your talented hands on that pile, or don’t expect to use them on me.”

“I already poked through it,” Bellamy told them. “I think there might be some useful bits in there. Enough to put together at least one or two that might work.”

“Sure it won’t cause an international incident if you give Trikru kids guns?” Wick asked, squatting down and sifting through the pile.

“No. But it’s not my job to keep Trikru kids in line either.” 

Thank God. They were feeling change in the wind, too, and it was winding them up higher than any drug on the market in Polis. 

“I’ll talk to Kane and Clarke before I give them back,” Bellamy said, “if that makes you feel any better. But it’ll be good to know, either way, if they have stashes that might actually yield working weapons.”

“You got a point, and,” Wick stood up, an assembled carbine in his hands, “they have the parts for about five broken-ass urban assault rifles. Missing screws and pins, barrels full of rust, and some of this plastic isn’t going to take a lot of use before it cracks, but, the important parts are all here.”

“Definitely a good news, bad news situation,” Bellamy said, scrubbing his face and suddenly exhausted by all the meetings he was going to end up in, thanks to this. “Thanks, man. Set them aside for now and I’ll get back to you about how we’re going to handle it.”

Bellamy was headed out the door when he realized Raven had appeared at his side. Damn, but could she move quickly and quietly when she wanted too, even with her cane and leg brace.

“Speaking of good news, bad news,” Raven said in a low voice, “the Azgeda Ambassador was down here the other day.”

“Yeah?” All thoughts about stupid Trikru teenagers and their rusty new toys fled, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

“She asked me for a tutorial on how ultrasounds work.”

“Oh.”

“Anything you want to share, champ?”

“Nothing you haven’t already guessed, Reyes.”

“Congratulations?”

Bellamy couldn’t quite stop the smile. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“And, speaking of international incidents, I really thought the first Grounder-Skaikru baby would be your sister’s.”

“Yeah. No. Her implant works just fine.”

“Oh,” Raven said, and then, “Ooohhh. You forgot that Echo wouldn’t have one, didn’t you.”

He shrugged. He wished he could say he forgot, but that would imply he’d ever thought about it in the first place. 

“So, why is she so concerned about understanding ultrasound technology? Which, by the way, she picked up quickly. And wanted to know if you could use it on horses.”

“Birth defects, miscarriages and maternal mortality are all really high on Earth, in her clan. And her real vocation is horse breeding and horse-trading. Like, for real. You should see her arguing values with the Trikru horse dealers.”

“So,” Raven paused delicately, “is everything okay?”

“Yeah. It is, actually. So far. We’ve even finished the full genetic counseling workup with Dr. Griffin. The baby should be… fine.” He shook his head, still feeling about a thousand contradictory things.

“Does Clarke know? Because, please God, don’t make me keep this a secret from her.”

“She does. No worries. Gossip away.” 

He could see her fighting to ask all sorts of questions. Questions she swallowed because she was a good friend. “When do we get to meet the rugrat?” she asked instead.

“June, probably just before midsummer.”

“Does this mean some kind of wedding-type thing is in your future?”

“No. Or, well, it’s complicated.”

“International complications?”

“Oh, yeah. And all kinds of weird-as-shit grounder hangups about pregnancy and childbirth and approved bloodlines and official parentage. Not Echo’s,” he hastened to add, “she’s more than ready to dump all that woo for modern childbirth, but her people probably won’t be.”

“Woo?”

“I called it barbarism the other day, and got a mini-lecture from Kane about respecting organic customs that respond to cultural and environmental stressors and avoiding the role of cultural imperialist. So now I’m calling it ‘woo’.”

Raven goggled at him. “What?”

“His academic major was sociology and anthropology.”

“That…” she trailed off, walking on with him in silence for a while. “That explains so much about him.”


	2. Wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abby decided this was invitation enough, and took the opposite corner. Pulling her legs beneath her and a throw pillow into her lap, and her recognition that it was a form of armor didn’t slow her down, she asked, “Have you spoken with Bellamy recently? Outside of staff meetings, I mean?”

“Clarke?” Abby said her daughter’s name quietly, willing to let Clarke decide if she wanted to talk now or not. 

Clarke was curled up with a book in the corner of their living room sofa, the lamplight she was reading by turning her hair bright gold. 

The amenities of the mountain fortress, the furniture, the linens, the rugs and lamps and dishes, worn but far less so than similar things on the Ark, paled in comparison to the wealth of books and art and music and film. The Arkers fell on these things, starved for fresh material after consuming all that they had so thoroughly it felt thin and tired and so – used. Clarke, like so many of them, had made visits to the library part of her daily routines as she devoured new authors, new ideas, new ways of thinking or reading or telling a story.

Clarke looked up, “Yeah, mom?”

Abby decided this was invitation enough, and took the opposite corner. Pulling her legs beneath her and a throw pillow into her lap, and her recognition that it was a form of armor didn’t slow her down, she asked, “Have you spoken with Bellamy recently? Outside of staff meetings, I mean?”

Clarke cocked her head, her eyes glinting with the same exasperation as when she was six and caught an adult out in a less than clever approach. “You mean, did he tell me he knocked up his grounder girlfriend? The Azgeda Ambassador? Yeah. A couple of days ago, actually.”

“Oh.” Abby realized that Bellamy must have told Clarke within a day of learning the news himself. She hadn’t realized they were still (again?) so close. She looked carefully at Clarke, a hundred half formed questions dying in her mouth. She finally settled on, “You okay?”

“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Abby didn’t say, _because I saw the way he looked at you? Because I heard the way you said his name?_ Instead she said, “You two built up a lot of pretty intense history in a really short time, and you work closely together now, on Kane’s staff. This could change things up a bit.” 

Which she knew was a massive understatement. Babies had a way of changing everything, especially in the short term.

Clarke shrugged. “I changed things by leaving. I took the space I needed to deal in my own way. I have to respect everyone else’s too.”

Abby knew Clarke was not healed and that she had not ‘dealt.’ She’d repressed, deflected, and finally settled on stubborn denial. Abby had no idea how to help her. She couldn’t see the wounds, but she knew Clarke was still bleeding. And a baby was not a bandage. Not for anyone. Not even for Bellamy Blake.

“I don’t think he anticipated this,” Abby said.

“No. He didn’t. Neither did she,” said Clarke.

Which had done nothing to dim his smile, when he heard his child’s heartbeat for the first time. It was like the dawn breaking around the earth, the brightest star in a star-filled sky. 

“I’ve seen you eating supper with them a few times. In the mess hall,” Abby said.

“He wants me to know her. So I’m trying.”

Abby blinked back a rush of tears. How did we teach you so well? To save everyone but yourself? “She’s…” Abby fought for a word, “an interesting young woman.”

Clarke barked out a sharp laugh. “That’s the same thing I told him! What a total cop-out.”

“I don’t mean it in a bad way!” Abby said. 

She liked the girl. Liked her spine of steel. Liked her refusal to put anyone else first. 

Abby said, “It’s just, we don’t have a lot of positive words to describe someone like Echo, but none of the non-positive ones are fair at all.”

“Sure we do. Smart, focused, goal-oriented, survivor, warrior.”

Abby had forgotten what it was like to be shamed by your own child’s generosity. And she had to listen to way too much gossip – presented as formal complaints – in her position as chancellor. “True.” 

“And she excellent taste in men.”

“Men?” 

“Have you seen Bellamy with his shirt off?” Clarke asked, then whistled and fanned herself in an exaggerated appreciation for hotness.

“No.” Abby shook her head. She had only seen him fully clothed. But she had seen enough to guess at what Clarke was missing. If she wanted it still. Do you, Clarke? Abby wondered. Would you ever tell me if you did? Would you ever tell him? “Clothes on only.”

“Yeah. Well.” Clarke raised her hands, indicating her inability to help Abby with this terrible oversight. 

“It’s not that hard to imagine,” Abby said drily. “I still have eyes, thanks.”

Even fully dressed it was clear he had extremely well developed musculature and a flawless swagger. 

They laughed together.

“I think she’s doing a good job of learning to be a diplomat. She’s not very gracious, yet, but she listens and she learns. She’s a good negotiator.” Clarke said, being very gracious herself.

“She managed to be appointed Ambassador, ahead of more experienced Clan members who must have wanted the post,” Abby said. “That was no small feat.”

“I know. Bellamy told me.” Clarke looked at her then, her expression softened with worry. “She’s afraid of dying.”

“Many, many grounder women do. Too many.” Abby said.

“Is there any reason to be concerned?”

“The clans’ obstetrics practices are shrouded in a lot of mystery. Echo, as a maiden – which I gather means ‘not yet a mother,’ rather than ‘virgin’ – officially doesn’t know much at all. The ritual knowledge is shared later, after quickening. I haven’t had a chance to corner Indra, but from my conversations with some of the Trikru women who have come to us for genetic counseling, I think they’ve gone old school. Birth is solitary, and unattended. It’s a test. Of mother and child.”

“That’s horrible!” Clarke exclaimed, pity and revulsion in her eyes.

“And wasteful. Part of why their maternal and neonatal death rates are so terrifyingly high.”

“But if she stays here? Delivers here?”

“I believe that’s what she wants. I’m just not sure how flexible the rules are, if she gives birth far from home. If that’s even allowed for someone of her status.”

“If she can’t stay?”

Abby raised her hands helplessly. “She’s young and resilient.” 

Echo’s heart had been damaged by the acute anemia brought on by her treatment at the hands of the Mountain Men. Her body was a network of scars from battle and bloodletting. Abby was – professionally concerned. But that was not her story to tell.

“Bellamy will totally break that rule,” Clarke said, iron certainty in her tone.

Abby remembered his smile. It was brighter and more beautiful than the sun. “Yes.”

“How important is the rule?” Clarke asked, her brow creased in thought.

“I think... very important.”

Clarke looked up at Abby, faint astonishment in her eyes. “We could end up triggering the war over a baby’s birth.”

When did _you_ become _we_ for Bellamy Blake’s child? Why must everyone else come first for you? “Yes,” Abby said. “We could.”

“Damn.”


	3. Streams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things are easy. Some things are hard. Bellamy does some of each on a long winter night.

“Hey,” Bellamy said, walking into the small barn on the plateau. “I got your message.”

Echo looked up from her perch on an upended bucket. “I didn’t mean for you to come up here.”

“I don’t mind. I brought supplies.” He held out a covered basket and two blankets.

The corners of her lips pulled up into the very smallest of smiles. “What’s in the basket?”

“Lentil stew, brown bread, apples and coffee.” He lifted up the covering to show her.

“You brought enough for two,” she said, her smile growing larger.

“Mmhm. Hold this,” he said, putting the basket in her lap. Then he spread the blankets out on top of the pile of fresh wood shavings. “I knew you weren’t going to come in to eat, so I brought supper out for us both.”

“You didn’t need to bother. I have a sandwich for later.”

“I wanted to.” He nodded at the chestnut mare, pacing restlessly in the indoor ring, pausing now and again to kick at her swollen belly. “How’s she doing?”

“Contractions started about an hour ago. This is her second foal, if the dealer was telling true stories. So, maybe another hour or two until her water breaks. Maybe longer. Probably longer. Mares like to deliver in the deep night.”

“How often have you done this?”

“Dozens of times, on my parent’s farm.” Her parents, he’d learned, had been horse breeders. Her older half-brothers had taken over the operation after her parents passed away. “But this is my first, alone.”

“That makes you the closest thing to a horse vet on the mountain, Ms. Ambassador. I’m glad you’re here.” He sat down on the blankets and held his hand out, “pass me the basket. I’m hungry.”

She handed it over, asking, “What is a ‘vet’?”

“It’s short for ‘veterinarian.’ Animal doctor.”

“You lost yours in the earthfall?” she asked.

“Never had any. The only animals we had on the Ark were descendants of lab animals. They allowed all but a very few to die. A few amphibians – frogs mostly – were kept for testing, and guinea pigs – for eating. But none of those are very complicated biologically.”

She rose and came over to join him on the blanket. “The stew smells good.”

He smiled as he passed her a covered bowl. He’d noticed her nausea usually let up around sunset, and she was ready to eat a few hours after that. He’d shown up right on time. “Eat up, it’s better while it’s warm.”

She nodded, already digging in. They ate in easy silence after that, their legs stretched out before them, shoulders just brushing. It reminded Bellamy of being on the road. She’d finally had something to do each day, something she was very good at, managing the horses, chivying their new riders, tending to their minor hurts and strains: the horses, not the riders. It made her happy and comfortable, almost gentle. Even with him, which was a surprisingly welcome change of pace.

Not that it ever stopped her from driving her elbow right into the gut of a recalcitrant horse, or an impertinent rider. If the situation seemed to warrant it.

Once they’d returned to Mt. Weather, she’d continued to take a proprietary interest in the Ice Nation horses she’d helped them buy with a brick of quality mountain hashish. Kaf, the Clans called it. 

Once he got used to her, the new head horse handler at Mt. Weather – chosen because he was willing to take the job – realized she knew a lot more than anyone else did. So he started calling her for everything that agitated him – from major injuries, Bellamy had helped hold down a horse that a cougar had attacked while Echo stitched him up – to ‘the horse is just acting weird and I’m worried.’ 

They’d been watching this mare for two weeks now, waiting for her to go into labor. The head horseman and Echo had been switching off nights for the last few days. Tonight was Echo’s turn. 

Bellamy wasn’t surprised that tonight would be the eventful one. Horses liked Echo.

“Trade you half my sandwich for the rest of your stew.” Echo’s voice interrupted his musing.

He looked at the amount of stew in his bowl and the sandwich in her hand, then handed it over. “Deal.”

As they sipped their cooling coffee, Echo said, “See the way she’s moving? She’s about to lie down. Help the foal shift into the proper position.”

“How come it’s okay for you to learn to help a horse, but no one helps a woman give birth?” He didn’t intend to sound petulant or accusatory. He did anyway.

“Horses have us to look out for them. We have no one but ourselves.”

Whatever he might have said next was short-circuited by the heavy sound of the mare lying down.

“See? I told you.” Echo grinned smugly.

It transformed her face, from forbidding to glowing. So he leaned in and kissed her. She kissed him back. One thing led to another, and soon he was asking, “How much longer do we have?”

“Enough,” she said, and reached for the buckle on her pants.

He woke to her hand on his shoulder, shaking him roughly. “I need your help. The foal is stuck.”

And so he learned, under the direction of the Azgeda Ambassador, his lover, the mother of their unborn child, how to help turn a foal inside a mare. 

It was exhausting, filthy work. 

Somewhere in the middle of it all, when Echo was stripped down to her bra and pants, armpit deep inside the mare, fighting contractions that made her grunt and her eyes water to loop a string around a foal’s jaw, both of them covered in blood and indescribable muck, Bellamy realized he could love her, if he let himself. He just had to let go his tight grip on his own heart. So he did.

When it was done, the afterbirth delivered and examined, the foal on his shaky feet, and they’d cleaned themselves up the best they could in the stable, they collapsed back onto their blankets. They watched the small, brown foal suckle at his mother’s teat until the head horseman arrived.

“Ugh,” Bellamy said to Echo. “You have gross shit in your hair. Let’s go take a shower.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes. I may have read my copies of James Herriott's books until they fell apart in tatters when I was a horse-mad girlchild. Why do you ask?


End file.
